


Service

by entanglednow



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-13
Updated: 2009-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur commands, Merlin serves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Service

"You're the servant Merlin," he says imperiously. Though there's a lilt to the words, an unsteadiness, that suggests Arthur has already had too much to drink.

Merlin obeys the strange command, slipping Lancelot's goblet from his hand, fingers sliding across his wrist in a way that isn't accidental but slow and curious. Then Merlin is much closer, pressed into Lancelot, a collection of angles, warmth, and uncertainty, eyes searching Lancelot's face, looking for permission.

And for his life Lancelot can't help but give it, freely, _completely._

Merlin's hands are at his waist, warm through the cloth, gathering the material in bunches while his breath flows over the edge of Lancelot's mouth.

Under orders, like a servant.

"I couldn't-" Lancelot starts, but Merlin has already found the hem of his shirt, is already pushing it up in one movement, hands flat on his skin, warming where they touch him; light enough to drag a breath out of him.

"It's alright," Merlin says quietly, and the words shake just a little. Lancelot thinks that it's fear, and the demand to stop this surges in his throat. But Merlin's fingers are dragging material up his chest in one long pull, drawing it over his head and dropping it behind. When his hands fall they find Lancelot's waist, fingers shifting on the skin, testing, stroking, and Lancelot breathes and curses himself for not saying a word.

Merlin takes this as permission too, bends into him, cheek sliding over his own, before his mouth opens on the curve of Lancelot's throat, a slow trail of tongue and teeth and _hunger_ that leaves Lancelot's protests scattered.

Like his wits.

Because Merlin's mouth isn't afraid at all. Merlin's mouth is open, and greedy and reverent on his skin.

"Merlin," He doesn't mean to sound so helpless. Merlin breathes into his neck, nose skimming the edge of his jaw and Lancelot turns, finds the wet, open warmth of his mouth and presses his own against it. One hand finds the dishevelled mess of his hair, the smooth length of his neck. Lancelot kisses him like he's wanted to for days. He takes Merlin's enthusiastic response as his own permission, ignoring the way Arthur's chair creaks sharply as he shifts his weight. The way Merlin sighs between every press of his mouth.

Lancelot can't resist moving his own fingers, sliding them up under the edge of Merlin's shirt, and Merlin laughs, soft and breathless and raises his arms. Lancelot drags it over in one quick movement, leaves Merlin's hair canted at every possible angle, long lengths of bare skin pale under his own tanned fingers. His mouth reddens so quickly under pressure, but he seems more than willing to let Lancelot bruise it anyway.

There's a playful aggressiveness to his touches but still a taste of something newly curious underneath.

Lancelot lifts his head, finds Arthur in the dark.

He watches from his chair, goblet tilted towards the floor, contents long gone, either to the floor, or down his throat.

Merlin's fingers twitch and shift in Lancelot's hair, restless, while he watches him watching Arthur.

"Arthur," Merlin says simply, quietly.

Arthur slides out of the chair like it's a demand, knees on the bed behind Merlin, hands in his hair, dragging his head back up, and the noises that come out of Merlin's throat are deeper, silkier than before.

"Kiss him again," Arthur demands.

Lancelot obeys.


End file.
